8Authors Note: Hey. Sorry for the lack of updating but I'm glad to finally be putting up this chapter. Just wanted to say that since I last updated 'Just For A While' I have edited the previous chapters and hopefully improved them. So if anyone out there has already read them you may like to re-read them. Thanks for reading and please I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so please review and subscribe! xx
Chapter 3
Toma opened the door of the wagon as quietly as possible, inching it open to peer inside. The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp that stood on Toma's desk, illuminating Iriana who sat in a chair beside the bed where the boy slept, his chest rising and falling regularly with the hard, firm rhythm of life. Iriana smiled when she saw him and beckoned him in, laying aside the green bodice she was embroidering with white flowers and trailing vines of ivy.
"Still the same?" Toma asked, closing the door behind him.
"Yes, I'm afraid." Iriana said in her lilting, heavily accented Merish voice. "His breathing's eased up since earlier, but other than that…" She trailed off with a shrug, removing her spectacles from her nose and letting them fall to hang from the chain around her neck.
"He's very weak, feverish and there is nothing but skin and bones to him. I managed to save most of the skin on his back which was fortunate, but it'll scar something terrible." She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I'll stay with him through the night in case he wakes up, and I'll change his bandages when Endean is free to help me."
"What do his chances look like?" Toma asked, gazing down at the boy in the bed.
Iriana had patched him up well. He had watched earlier as she'd sewn his wounds neatly shut with a bone needle and gut thread before using the salves and lotions she made to create a poultice of milk, crushed apple leaves, willow bark and bistort root. The cotton cloths soaked in the mixture were bound to his back with bandages and now hid most of the damage, but here and there spots of blood seeped through like small, red flowers. The lacerations around his wrists too had been bandaged and she'd washed his face of blood and dirt.
He still hadn't woken up, but knowing what he'd been through in the last day Toma wasn't surprised.
Lying on his front as he was, looking so prone and vulnerable, it was impossible for Toma not to pity him.
The world has been very cruel to you of late, boy.
"If he survives the night," Iriana said, "I'm pretty certain that he'll live, but at this point I fear he could go either way. His fate is in the hands of The Saviour. We must wait now and let Him decide what is to be."
Only then did she notice the tray Toma was carrying. "I wouldn't be wrong in thinking that's for me, would I?" she said, giving him a subtle grin.
Toma smiled back. "Rabbit seasoned with rosemary, buttered potatoes and carrots with fresh, hot bread and butter."
He put the tray down on the desk at Iriana's side and removed the covering with a dramatic flourish.
Iriana gave the plate a sniff, then picked up the warm bread and broke the crust. A plume of steam rose from it and Iriana sighed as she began to use it to dab up the juices from the rabbit.
"Mara really does know how to cook, doesn't she?" Iriana said appreciatively, transferring the bread to her mouth. "When you get to my age you never fail to appreciate truly wholesome cooking."
Toma murmured in agreement, sitting himself at the foot of the bed to watch the boy as he slept. "Do we have any idea who he is? Was there anything in his clothes perhaps?"
Iriana paused with a fork of rabbit half way to her mouth. Lowering it she bent down and from inside her sewing box withdrew an old, worn leather drawstring purse held on a long cord obviously meant to be worn around the neck.
"Well there wasn't much clothing to speak of. I've burned the old rags he was wearing and dressed him in some of Pip's britches as he's closest in size. However, he was wearing this around his neck. I removed it when I was tending his back." She held out the purse.
Toma took it and studied the thing. It was small and probably could have fit no more than a dozen bronze Kora inside. Even its weight was insubstantial. In fact it felt empty. When Toma opened it to check he found he was mistaken. In fact it contained several things. He paused for a moment then tipped the contents onto the blanket.
There were seven small coins, dull and worn smooth with much handling.
"Copper pennies." he noted, turning one over between two fingers. Copper pennies were practically worthless coins of the City States, no thicker than a person's fingernail and about as big.
Beneath the coins was a small scrap of parchment with a few words scrawled across it, but the ink was so badly smeared and damaged by water it could not be read.
There was also a small river-worn stone, about the size of a bird's egg, which seemed to have cracked in two. Picking up one of these halves Toma saw that inside was entirely filled with tiny purple crystals.
A Geode. Toma thought, remembering the lessons of his youth. An air bubble trapped inside volcanic rock which over extended periods of time has collected amethyst deposits.
He put the rock back down and picked up the last of the items.
It was a lock of hair tied in a faded blue ribbon. The hair was dark as night and glossy to the touch.
"These are most likely the only things he owns in the world." Iriana said, voicing what Toma himself had just been thinking.
"Well it's not exactly going to tell us who he is." and sighing he carefully put everything back into the purse, drew it closed and placed it on the table.
Iriana nodded, turning back to her food. "I suppose we'll just have to wait until he wakes up for him to tell us that."
Suddenly there came a knock at the door.
"Come." Toma called.
The door opened slowly and Toma turned to see who it was. It was Shyla.
The little girl was standing on the threshold, fiddling with the hem of her blue woollen smock and looking shy at having interrupted them.
"What is it Shyla?" Toma asked, smiling kindly at her.
"There's a man out there who wants to see you. He's talking with Papa. He looks angry, Toma."
Toma had been expecting this.
"Alright Shyla. I'm coming." Sighing he got to his feet and rummaged in the draws of his desk until he found the folder he needed, a large black one made of soft leather, tied in a yellow ribbon. An emblem had been embossed onto the leather. A crest halved with a cliff top castle and three crossed spears.
"Take me to them, would you." Toma asked, tucking the folder under one arm he followed Shyla out, pausing long enough to tell Iriana that he would return soon.
It was full dusk now outside, the sky a dark indigo colour fading off into purple against the horizon. Toma paused at the top of the stairs of his wagon. He could see the stars coming out above them, the constellations glittering like pinpricks in a dark, celestial cloth: there was the Turtle, the Phoenix, the twin sisters, the Princess Mirella and her Sir Christen who stood at opposite ends of the heavens, unable ever to meet.
Toma remembered a time long ago when he used to lay in the grass on summer nights and try to count these starts.
He sighed and forced his eyes back to earth. I shouldn't think of those times. He reminded himself.
He descended the steps and, with Shyla, crossed the campsite.
The troupe had arrived in Greenfields about two hours ago. The travelling had been reasonably speedy despite the unfavourable terrain and they had made good time, reaching Greenfield just before sunset. But with it being too late to either do business or set up the stage in time for an evening play, the troupe had instead set up their wagons at a leisurely pace in an empty patch of land in town between a cobbler's shop and a public house and settled down to a filling supper supplied by Guillan and Mara.
At present everyone was sitting around the fire, laughing, joking and drinking from a keg of pale beer Hadra had acquired from the public house. Guillan was tuning his fiddle and seemed to be more than ready to entertain the group with a few songs.
Toma noticed Jayme and Rall sat on opposite sides of the fire, refusing to look at one another.
Well they're not trying to kill each other. That's an improvement at least.
Shyla led Toma across the campsite, away from the light of the fire to where an older gentleman stood having a quiet yet heated discussion with a sandy haired man in calfskin breeches and linen shirt.
"Papa!" Shyla called, running to the sandy haired man and throwing her arms around his waist. He barely seemed to notice her, too caught up in his conversation.
"You have no right to do this. We're only here to perform. There's no law against that!"
"Listen you Rell bastard." The older gentleman said in a high, hoarse voice, brandishing a finger. "I am mayor of this town. Now I am telling you that you have until tomorrow morning to clear your Kiyuri rabble out of my town or I will bring the King's Arms here to forcibly remove you!"
"But-"
"It's alright Aran." Toma interjected as he reached his friend's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll take it from here."
He stepped forward and took Aran's place before the Mayor. A small part of him found humour in how the man took a step back at seeing the height of him. At just over six feet tall Toma was by no means a man who could be easily intimidated. The Mayor on the other hand barely came up to Toma's shoulder.
He was an elderly man, maybe sixty, dressed in all the fineries of state office. He wore a richly dyed green linen shirt and britches with white silk stockings and a cape of fine white wolf's fur fastened at his shoulder with a golden clasp worked in the shape of an eagle. In his hand he held a gold topped cane. His eyes were a watery blue, his thinning hair a steely grey colour which caught the light of the campfire when he moved. His skin was puckered around mouth and eyes and loose around the chin and neck, spilling over his collar like the jowls of a turkey.
Fine clothes may make a man look powerful. Toma mused. And the gold he wares can make him look wealthy. That eagle at his shoulder implies he has high connections, but beneath it all he is still an old, weak man who walks with a cane.
It was then that Toma noticed the two men standing behind the Mayor's left shoulder.
Ah. He thought. And because this Mayor is all too aware of that fact he's brought a far more reliable strength with him.
The men were soldiers of the King's Arms. They were dressed in the colours of the King; emerald green and white, and although they wore no armour at their left hips hung both sword and dirk. They stood a few paces back from the Mayor; far enough back to allow the man his space but close enough to make it quite plain whom they were there to protect. It was a subtle but solid statement of public and military authority.
Toma saw all of this in the briefest of moments before bringing his eyes back to the Mayor's, his face impassive and free of emotion. "Sir, I am the leader of this troupe. Now if it pleases you may I ask what the trouble is?"
"I will not have you here. You hear me?" the Mayor said, turning on him in a way that reminded Toma of a small yapping dog. "I simply will not allow it!"
"And may I ask why?" Toma said, careful to keep his voice level. "We have done nothing, committed no crime. We have only been in town a few hours-"
"You're too much trouble. We had your kind in town last winter and there were three bar brawls and two fires, not to mention valuable belongings went… missing." He looked at Toma in such as way as to give no mistake as to what he inferred.
Toma quelled the momentary anger that flared within him. "I can assure you Sir, that if these performers acted in this way to yourself and your townspeople they were not Kiyuri."
The Mayor huffed indignantly. "Whether they were your kind or not doesn't matter one lick to me. I will not have you immoral, unlicenced-"
"We are licenced!" Aran interjected angrily. Toma made a swift motion with his hand and Aran stopped, glaring at the Mayor and grinding his teeth.
"He speaks the truth of it, Sir. We have papers signed by Kyrad Donnell, the High Minister of Sendal, which gives us leave to perform in any town within the states of Scarbia, Daruma, Tiretaine, Sendal, Kelsmere and Greenbay. I have them with me here if you wish to inspect them."
Toma withdrew the sheets of parchment from the folder and held them out for the Mayor's inspection. The Mayor looked at the licence in bewilderment, as though Toma had just thrust some diseased animal at him. Nevertheless, he took the document, pulled out a pair of spectacles from a pocket, affixed them to his nose and began to read. From somewhere behind him Toma could hear Guillan strike up his fiddle and play the opening melody of 'Old Mister Cottington' to great applause from the troupe.
"Papa?" Shyla muttered. Toma saw Aran look down at her kindly and lift her into his arms where she put her head against his shoulder, placed her thumb in her mouth and became quite quiet, watching the fire behind them.
When the Mayor reached the bottom of the parchment he studied the green wax seal affixed to it, then obviously unable to find anything to complain about nodded once and handed it back to Toma.
"Alright. Everything seems to be in order. But I warn you, if there are any complaints about thieving or cheating; if you cause just one brawl or there's some mischief between any your men folk and the townswomen then I'll be back here with the King's Arms, mark my words. You just keep to yourselves; do you're business, perform as and when you like, just so long as it's nothing lewd or vulgar and it's not outside the Justice building. Then be on you're way. Alright?"
"I understand you completely, Sir." Toma said with a slight bow of the head.
The mayor nodded, huffed and left, followed closely by his entourage.
"Why did you let him talk to you like that Toma? Like we were nothing more than a band of two-penny guisers?" Aran asked when the Mayor was sufficiently out of earshot.
"And what would you have had me do? Yelled at him? Slapped him and called him out for the insult?"
"I would have had you do something. Not just roll over like a dog at it's master's feet." Aran said as the two of them began their walk back towards the campfire.
"The courtesies must be observed, Aran." Toma said, putting the licence back into the folder and knotting the ribbon. "I am obliged to show him respect and acknowledge the superiority his office permits him."
Aran growled in the back of his throat. "He's some backwater Mayor who hasn't got two thoughts in his head to rub together." he spat.
"But he is the Mayor. And Aran, he does have the right to throw us out of town. At his single word he would have every man of the King's Arms within twenty miles rallied to arrest us. All of us. You, me, Iriana, Mara, your girls and Lysander…"
Toma petted Shyla's head where it rested against Aran's shoulder. Aran looked sideways at her and his expression softened.
"Remember," Toma continued "men like that rule the land, and though we travel freely through it we are still bound by their will."
"Yes, well I don't like it, Toma."
Toma permitted himself a laugh and clapped his friend on the back. "No, Aran, neither do I. I don't think anyone does. But just remember this: we get to leave this damp backwater town in a few days, while he'll be here for the rest of his life."
Aran laughed as they reached the fireside before leaving to take up a seat by Mara's side where she was breastfeeding Lysander. She kissed him on the lips then handed him a plate of food.
Toma took a seat on the other side of the circle watching the young family together as Tish ran over and began playing with her sister.
After a moment Toma was aware that someone had come to sit beside him. "Hello, Dean."
"What was it this time?" Endean said, handing him a clay mug which he accepted gratefully. It was warm to the touch and smelled of cinnamon and cloves.
"The Mayor was concerned for the safety of valuable possessions and the virtues of his townswomen."
"Ah. So the usual then." Endean sighed, stretching her legs out in front of her to warm them by the fire. "People are getting more and more paranoid by the day, Toma."
Toma gave a nod of assent, watching Guillan as he began to play 'The Sailors Bride', with the soft, swaying rhythm reminiscent of the ocean tides.
"It's the war." he said after a moment, "People are scared. The roads still aren't safe, not with all the army deserters still out there. It was a poor harvest this year too, then there was the tax levy last month which makes the second this year. Things like that make people go a little cold inside. They haven't got much to hold onto which means they hold onto what little they have all the tighter, whether it's their families, their faith or their livelihoods. They don't know who they can trust so rural communities like this grow very close. I don't blame them for not being overly keen outsiders. I know I wouldn't if I were in their shoes."
Toma took a sip of the spiced wine and felt it warm him in a way that the fire could not. "If it wasn't for the autumn markets I wouldn't have stopped us here at all. But Greenfield is the largest trading town for fifty miles as well as the only one on the road between Scarba and Kelsmere. With the number of people in town we're certain to turn a good profit. That and we need to stock up on supplies. Prices will increase dramatically as soon as winter sets in."
He took another sip of wine.
"Have I ever told you just how astounding you are sometimes?" Endean said.
Toma turned to see her staring up at him, her mouth quirked up in a sly smile, eyes jewel bright, dancing with the flames of the fire in their hazel depths.
Carefully she leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips leaving a little of her warmth behind there.
Toma opened his mouth to speak but a sound caught his ears. It was the sound of raised voices coming from behind them. The troupe stopped their conversations, Guillan's fingers stopped on the strings of the fiddle and the music died. Then someone gave a loud, shrill yell. At once Toma was on his feet and running towards the sound which he realised was coming from his wagon. As he approached the door banged open and the figure of the boy staggered out.
He looked like a phantom, his skin glowing pale as the moon in the near darkness. He was clothed in only breeches, his entire torso wrapped in bandages covered in the blooms of fresh blood. At the foot of the stairs he turned and for an instant met Toma's eyes. Through the bruising and cuts that marred his face Toma saw the sheer terror there.
"He was moaning in his sleep. Then he woke up. When he saw me he just ran!" came Iriana's voice from inside the wagon.
At the sound the boy turned and began to run with furious abandon away from the campsite. For a second Toma simply stood and stared at his retreating back.
He's half dead and yet he finds the strength to run? Then he realised the reality. But he's too badly hurt. The boy was limping heavily and moved stiffly, clutching his side with one arm. Toma could hear the wheezing and panting from twenty feet behind him. After a moment's concideration Toma followed suit, perusing the boy down the deserted street. He wasn't fast, Toma realised as he started catching up.
Seven Hells, this boy is going to kill himself if he goes on like this.
Shay ran. Without knowing where he was or where he was going he just ran as fear consumed him.
Goddess above, they're going to take me to a Justice. I have to get away. Goddess above just let me get away.
Suddenly Shay's feet slid in the mud and he lost his balance. His feet going out from under him Shay slammed into the ground, unable to get his hands up in time to break his fall. Lying in the dirt he gasped, barely able to breathe. Again he felt the bitter taste of metal in his mouth. Somehow he managed to get to his knees but pain exploded through his body and he cried out in agony, collapsing again. It felt as though his body was being ripped apart, his insides burning with ice and fire.
Then he heard feet running towards him. Slowly he turned his head and saw the figure of a man, tall and muscular, come to a halt above him. Shay closed his eyes tight and curled his body in on itself.
Goddess, protect me. he prayed, waiting for the blows to fall.
But they did not.
Instead he sensed the man kneel beside him.
"Hey." he said "Hey. Calm down. You're going to hurt yourself running off like that. There's no need to be afraid. No one here is going to hurt you." He spoke in a low, soft voice, slowly with no inflection to his words. Some small part of Shay unconsciously relaxed. It was a soothing sound, a deep, rich baritone.
Then Shay smelled cinnamon and sandalwood on his skin. The smell was familiar but he couldn't quite say why.
"My name is Toma." the man continued. "I was the one who found you back at that Inn."
Shay suddenly remembered the innkeeper. He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder and he flinched instinctively at the touch, remembering the feel of the lash on his back.
The hand was quickly withdrawn and Shay relaxed a fraction, allowing himself to open his eyes and look up.
There was another person with the tall man, a young woman with long, auburn hair.
"Maybe he doesn't speak Aramanti." she said to the man called Toma. She knelt beside him, smiling gently at Shay. "Do you speak Haldish?" she asked. "Brouk sol usul? Navish? Arim nara? Henta? Kavatr di vishali?"
"I speak Aramanti." Shay croaked with no conscious thought of speaking.
The girl smiled at him.
"Good. I'm glad."
"Alright then, you need to listen to me carefully now." The man called Toma said, refocusing Shay's attention on him. "You are badly hurt and Iriana over there has been tending your wounds. You've got a lot of stitches in your back which you've probably ripped. You're also very bruised and you have a high fever. We only want to help you. If you let Iriana treat you until you are recovered then I promise, no one will stop you leaving when that time comes. No one will stop you leaving now either if you wish to, but if you do with your wounds you will most likely die of infection within a day or two. Sp, will you allow us to take you back inside so Iriana can help you?"
For a moment Shay considered running again. But then he realised the truth in the man's words.
If I run now I'll die. He could feel the sickness inside him, fell it broil and course through his body. He could feel every cut and bruise and sore both singularly and as the whole, the pain of it all pressing his mind until he was nearly blind with it.
He looked up into the faces of the man and woman again, indistinct shapes illuminated only by the distant firelight. Shay saw no outward sign of cruelty there in those faces. But looks can be deceiving. He reminded himself. And you've been deceived before.
He took a shaky breath. But what choice do I have?
Soslowly he nodded.
The man gave him a smile and beckoned the young woman forward before reaching out a hand to Shay. Shay felt panic rise in his chest again and flinched. The man froze, seeing Shay's motion and withdrew his hand again.
"I'm sorry. I just meant to help you stand. Can you walk by yourself?"
Shay tried to get to his hands and knees but suddenly felt a tightness in his chest and was struck by a fit of coughing. Then he felt something thick and metallic rising in his throat, filling his mouth. It was choking him. He bent over and coughed it onto the mud with a dull splat.
"He's coughing up blood, Toma!" came the woman's voice from somewhere far away.
Shay felt his head swimming, his vision blurring with dim spots of light. He couldn't breath but at the same time he couldn't stop coughing.
Toma watched the boy splutter and wretch, Endean swooping in to help him. He barely seemed to register her hands on his back, as violent as the fit was. Gritting his teeth Toma got to his feet, leaned down and scooped the boy into his arms, ignoring the way he flinched at the touch and pushed at Toma's chest, trying to get away. He was still coughing up blood, his chin painted red and what skin that wasn't purple and bruised was deathly pale.
If I have to cause him a little discomfort in order to save his life, then so be it.
Toma carried him back to the wagon ignoring the stares of the troupe and lay him on the bed.
Iriana was waiting for him.
When Toma had deposited the boy she was immediately there, pouring a cup of something down his throat. The boy spluttered and moaned, his face contoured in pain.
"I know, I know. Just drink this. Drink this."
"What is it?" Toma asked.
"Something to take the edge off the pain and make him sleep."
Indeed the boy seemed to be recovering. His coughing fit was coming to an end and his breathing was levelling out.
Iriana meanwhile was busy rolling up her sleeves and pouring medicinal alcohol over her hands into a bowl.
"Endean, come in here and help me get these bandages off would you?" she called.
Endean pushed past Toma to Iriana's side and began helping her cut away the bandages around the boy.
Toma stood and watched as the boy's eyes flitted around the room, his mouth open as he gasped for breath and cried out in pain as the women rolled him onto his front and began cleaning his freshly opened wounds. Then, finally, the cries became whimpers and the whimpers faded to silence as his eyes closed and his body relaxed as he passed out.
"Is everything okay?" came a voice from the door. It was Guillan, fiddle in hand. He was watching the boy with brows furrowed in concern. "The others are all a bit worried."
Toma went outside the wagon, closing the door behind him and leaving the women to their patient. "The boy was just frightened is all. But he'll be alright, I'm sure."
"Will he be alright, you think?"
Toma shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Iriana say's he could go either way. I suppose we'll see in the morning."
"Any idea who he is?" Guillan asked as the two of them headed back towards the campfire.
"No. But whoever he is he's scared." Toma remembered the way the boy had looked at him when he'd tried to help him stand. "But right now I'm more worried about his life than his name."